


His Word

by MythicalCatie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Corporal Punishment, F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Non-Consensual Spanking, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:56:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7886605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythicalCatie/pseuds/MythicalCatie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Winchester has never been a man to go back on his word. Hannah is reminded of that fact when she has to keep a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Word

Hannah carefully closed the front door to the house that she lived in with her two brothers, Sam and Dean, and her parents, John and Mary, making certain that it didn’t creak or click as it shut. It was two forty-five in the morning and god, she hoped that her mother and father were asleep. It would be her head if they weren’t. She knew that John had probably been onto her for at least a week by that point, and the last thing she needed was to be caught for **while** in the act of sneaking back into the house. However, she also knew that John had no idea where she went or who she went with, what she did when she arrived, or even if she went out for certain, and the girl wanted to keep it that way. She did **not** need her father knowing what she’d been up to. He might get mad at her, and she didn’t like the thought of that. John being mad at her came with being ignored, being shut out, and not being included in activities with him that her brothers were, among other things.

When Hannah turned the corner to go through the living room so that she could get upstairs, her worst fear at the moment came true. John was awake and sitting on the couch, waiting for her. Waiting to see if she had left his house without his or her mother’s permission. She had, and it was nearly three o’clock in the morning! The fifteen year old swallowed thickly, freezing in her tracks when she was faced with the sight of the patriarch of her family.

John set his glass of whiskey down on the mahogany coffee table in front of him and looked up at Hannah when he heard her enter the room. His eyes pierced hers like a bullet to the brain, and his breath seemed to freeze the air when he spoke.

“Young lady,” the man began, continuing to fix his gaze on his teenage daughter. “Where have you been?”

Hannah was silent, simply averting her eyes to the floor. She didn’t answer John. If she did, she’d just lie. She couldn’t tell the **truth**. It would **surely** land her in hot water.

“Answer me,” John instructed sternly. Hannah, along with both of her brothers, had come to know the tone that the man was currently using as “the dad voice." It was meant to be firm and maybe scare them a little bit just so that they knew that he meant business. It wasn’t as scary as it had been in the past when compared to what Hannah experienced that morning. Never, ever as scary. She knew that her daddy would **never** hurt her the way that she was hurt that morning. However, it still frightened the girl quite a bit.

Still, Hannah didn’t respond. What she did try to do, however, was leave the room to get to the staircase. Unfortunately for her, she was unsuccessful. John grabbed the blonde before she could even get past him, pulling her body toward his own. She wasn’t going **anywhere** unless she was told that she was allowed.

The green-eyed girl attempted to twist out of her father’s hold but she failed miserably. John’s strength surpassed hers by miles. As a result of that fact, he didn’t even have to make an effort to keep her in place.

“You’re not going anywhere, missy.”

John tightened his grip on his child, simply to reinforce what he had said, and pulled her into a sitting position on his knee before locking his free leg around hers so that she had extremely decreased chances of getting away from him.

“Daddy,” Hannah whined. “C’mon, let me up. I’m exhausted and want to go to bed,” she said, making a special effort to not allow her voice to crack. She was still terrified.

“I’ll let you up when you tell me where you went tonight,” John informed her, not loosening his hold.

Hannah looked down, remaining quiet. The only thing she said was, “I can’t.”

“Well, then I guess you’re not going to be getting up, huh?” the man asked.

Hannah sighed, nodding slightly in agreement. She **was** extremely tired, but if it was the price for keeping her secret, then so be it. She would stay there all night long if it meant her secret was safe from John. She would stay there for as long as it took if it meant that her secret was safe from anybody, from **everybody**. Nobody needed to know. Ever.

Five minutes passed in silence before either of the family members spoke. Hannah’s father sat waiting for her to reveal her whereabouts, and Hannah sat waiting for her father to give up and let her go to bed.

“You have one more chance to tell me before there’s more of a consequence than you just sitting here,” John said finally in warning, effectively breaking the silence.

Now **that** made Hannah even more anxious than she already was, if not anything else.

But even with the threat, the girl stayed quiet. Nobody could know her secret, not even the person that she loved the most in the world. Never him. He’d be disappointed in her, and Hannah couldn’t have that.

"Let me correct that statement. You have one minute before you’re not just seated with me anymore,” she was told when she did not open her mouth to provide John with the information that he sought.

What did he mean by that? The words obviously meant something, but the girl just didn’t know **what**. Why couldn’t John just come out and say what was going to happen instead of being mysterious?

One minute passed, and the fifteen year old still hadn’t said a thing. So, of course, she’d have to face the consequences.

“Okay,” John said, releasing Hannah’s legs from his and grabbing her by the waist, turning her over his lap in a simple, swift motion. Oh, **fuck**. Not this. Hannah was too old for **this**. “You asked for it.”

“Daddy-” the green-eyed girl attempted.

Hannah was only answered by a quick, sharp, “Shh!” filling her ears. She could tell, due to prior experience and the noise that John had produced, that he was likely wearing the _don’t “daddy” me_ expression on his face. That knowledge combined with the fact that the man had just taken her skirt down caused Hannah to whimper loudly.

While John had removed Hannah’s skirt from its resting place on her hips, he left her underwear on in order to offer her a slight amount of decency. He knew that it was a very thin layer of protection that wouldn’t help anything at all if he adjusted his force just enough, so he never required her to be completely bare except in the extremely rare case that she did something unthinkable and deserved the humiliation.

Hannah spoke one letter more of her plea before being cut off by a harsh smack to her behind. Five followed it at a steady rhythm. One, two, _smack_! One, two, _smack_!

Hannah tried to move away from the source of the hits when they began and in return, all she got was a readjustment. Her father shifted her slightly before locking his right leg over her own pair and effectively pinning them down. With that, Hannah’s lower body was completely immobilized and she barely had a prayer of escape.

All she could, or rather would, do, was lay in silence and wait. Hannah thought that she could take the striking. She **knew** that she could. Well, physically at least. Physically, she had been through a lot worse. Emotionally, on the other hand, was a different story. Emotionally, she was taking hits from somebody that she loved, somebody that she trusted. Although they weren’t blows to the face or punches to the stomach, in her current state, after what she had been through that night along with what she had been through the nights that preceded that one, it hurt Hannah just as much.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, the blonde was unable to take it physically as well as she was unable to take it emotionally.

As John’s heavy hand came down on her backside repeatedly, tears pricked Hannah’s eyes, threatening to spill out of her gorgeous orbs and down her face. The girl planned to do the best that she could to keep the impending flow from beginning, but she didn’t know how long she would be able to do so.

One, two, _smack_! One, two, _smack_!

She had forgotten, since the last time that she had found herself in the position that she was currently in, how strong John was. Even though she had been on the receiving end of worse in a variety of situations, she was still, when it came down to things, a weak little girl with a low pain tolerance.

“Now you know good and damn well that you shouldn’t leave the house without the permission of your mother or me.” _Whack_! “Especially this late at night. You put yourself in danger when you do that. You could get **raped** , or **robbed** , or **murdered** ,” John lectured. _Slap_! “You could have gotten hurt out there, Hannah. Badly. I don’t like having to spank you like this,” _Smack_! “but I will if that’s what it takes to get through to you. You need to wise up, little girl, and quickly. If you don’t, you’ll be spending a lot more time exactly how you are now. I can **swear** that to you.”

“Daddy,” Hannah cried out, attempting to block John’s blows by covering her ass with her right hand. However, it was immediately smacked away and the next slap to her behind came down even harder than the previous one had. It wasn’t exactly a smart idea to try what she had, as Hannah learned very quickly. So, she next resorted to an alternative method. Begging.

“Daddy, please. Please stop. I’m so sorry.” _Thwack_! “Ow! Daddy, please! I’m sorry! **I’m sorry**!”

“You go right on ahead and keep talking, Hannah. It’ll just make things worse for you,” John warned as he moved down to strike the curve of his daughter’s bottom multiple times before beginning to focus on her upper thighs. The blonde flinched in both surprise and in pain when the change of focus was made, but didn’t try to move beyond that involuntary twitch for fear that it would make things worse for her. As it turned out to be, that was a smart choice.

A number of minutes later, John halted his actions when he was pleased with the job that he had done. His daughter had now been crying for roughly ten minutes, and her behind was a sufficiently angry shade of red, along with the backs of her thighs sporting a slightly lighter shade of their own. She had become limp over her father’s lap and any more signs of struggling and defiance had left the girl some time ago. The man believed that he had gotten through to her by that point.

When it was over, Hannah waited silently for confirmation that she could move from her current position. The teen knew better than to ask. If she asked, she’d simply get a, “Why, do you have somewhere to be?” in response along with extra smacks. Considering that the entire reason that she was in her current position was because she really **did** have somewhere to be, she wasn’t going to pull the trigger of a loaded gun.

Once granted permission to move, Hannah stood up slowly and carefully in an attempt not to add to the pain that she was already feeling. It was a failed attempt, but an attempt nonetheless.

Once she was off of the couch and on her feet, the blonde hesitantly placed herself in front of her father, her arms hanging down, locked against her sides with her hands resting on the sides of her thighs. Her head also hung down, her eyes averted to the floor. She still remembered how it worked after a spanking in the household even though she had not been punished in that way since the previous year. It came when she and her twin brother, Dean, had to switch high schools after getting expelled for getting into a fist fight with a jock and his girlfriend.

John originally was going to add to their punishment by putting them in different schools, but Hannah and Dean’s mother, Mary, objected. She reasoned that the pair had never been apart in that way and that it would cause them separation anxiety. They had never been apart a day in their lives, and Mary, ever the voice of reason, was the one that knew best that separating them would do more harm than it would do good. She also knew and reminded her husband that it was not feasible, as Hannah had a severe anxiety and panic disorder. The girl couldn’t even deal with when she and Dean were not in the same classes at the same times. If they were put into different schools… all Hell and worse would break loose on Hannah and whoever happened to be around her at the time. So, Mary worked hard to and eventually convinced John that going the extra mile in their punishments was not in anybody’s best interest.

As a result of that scare, Hannah had been on her best behavior ever since the incident and hadn’t landed herself another trip over her father’s knee. Until that night, that is.

Her cheeks were as red as her behind, along with being soaked in salty, clear liquid, and her nose was full of snot and tears. The female Winchester could barely breathe, and that only added to the chances of her having a panic attack. She knew that she needed to get out of the room and that she needed to get out of it fast. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t **breathe**. “ _You think this is a game, Hannah? I’ll show you a game. You know it? See, I take this rope and-_ ” However, Hannah knew that she would have to stand there and either wait for John to give her a rather long lecture, stick her in a corner for reflection, or dismiss her.

The young girl trembled violently, tears still streaming down her face. She was currently trying her hardest to hold an oncoming flashback at bay while she was waiting.

“Are you ready to tell me why you were out so late tonight, Hannah Lauryn?”

Hannah shook her head and began to speak in a shaky and broken, yet extremely soft voice.

“No, sir,” she whispered.

Her breaths were labored, and she couldn’t stay still at all. She was shifting on her feet uncomfortably as she answered, trying to stay calm.

John silently cursed himself when his child responded to his inquiry. He knew that _this_ was only the beginning. His only daughter was a very stubborn girl and didn’t give in easily.

“If that’s the way you want it, fine. In that case, you can march yourself down here at eleven tonight for another spanking, in addition to every night until you tell me where you’ve been going off to. That is, of course, if you don’t sneak out again. In which case, I will be waiting for you.”

“ _Maybe if she’s so sore and in pain that she can’t walk properly, she won’t sneak out,_ ” John mused silently. “ _Maybe then I can be sure that she’ll be safe._ ”

Hannah gulped down the rather large lump in her throat upon hearing the words that she didn’t expect, but dreaded all the same. Not **that**. Not **again**.

But if there was one thing that had been a constant in the entire fifteen years that she’d known John, he had never once gone back on his word. If John said something, he meant it, regardless of if it worked to his advantage, and he wasn’t going to change his mind about it. Hannah didn’t want a repeat of what had just been done to her, but she knew that it would have to happen, as she was due over in her own personal Hell that evening as well.

“Yes, sir,” she agreed in a nearly inaudible voice, leaving it at those two simple words.

John simply nodded once he knew that he had been heard in addition to understood.

“Now come here,” he instructed, holding out his arms. His voice went from irritated and chastizing to soft and inviting, although still slightly gruff, as was per the usual, in a snap. No matter what rule she had broken or what punishment she had just received, Hannah was still sad and crying, and she was still his baby, and John wanted to give her a hug in order to offer her at least **some** shred of comfort. After all, he wasn’t completely heartless, or heartless at all for that matter.

“N-No thanks,” Hannah refused, scrubbing her tears away and off of her cheeks with the heel of her palm. She knew that if she hugged her father, she would most likely melt into him and start sobbing even harder than she already was. That wouldn’t be good for her emotional health considering that she would be “marching herself down here at eleven o’clock tonight as well.” The switch from John’s disciplinarian side shining through to him comforting her, followed by going back to punishing her was too much for the girl to handle, especially if the change would happen every night until she fessed up, which very well could be a long while. So, she decided to just tough it out until it was all over, if it ever was. It would be painful, but not as much as it could be if she opted to get the relief of cuddling up to him that she was craving at that moment. That comfort would be fleeting, and would only result in her feeling destroyed later on.

“Hannah,” John called, leaving his arms open. He really hated for things to end this way. They never had before. Hannah, Dean, and Sam **always** accepted hugs after punishments. That’s the way his kids were, the way that they had always been. Hannah not needing, or rather not accepting, comfort was really off-putting and nerve wracking to him. “Are you sure?”

“Y-Yeah, I-I’m sure,” Hannah assured with a sniffle. “I-I’m okay.” Not. But she would have to deal with it regardless.

“Alright then. In that case, get your skirt up and get to bed,” the ex-marine finally dismissed in a rough voice while he put his arms down, trying and succeeding in holding back a sigh.

That statement was accompanied by a slightly puzzled look on Hannah’s tinted face. Get her skirt up and go to bed?

Usually, after a spanking in the Winchester household, the offending child would have some corner time to serve. However, that wasn’t the case that night. John could tell that if Hannah would have been allowed to go straight to bed when she walked through the door, she would have been out like a light as soon as her head hit the pillow. The man knew that his daughter needed to be punished, but he wanted to teach her a lesson, not torture her.

“You’re tired…- No. You’re exhausted. I can see it on your face. You need to get to bed,” John explained. “Forget the corner tonight.”

Hannah simply nodded in reply, bending at the knees, grabbing her skirt and pulling it over her legs and onto her hips. Then, she made her way out of the room at a normal pace without more than a “yes, sir,” spoken. She knew that if she would have said anything more, she would have blown her cover, and decided to take her dismissal as a blessing without question. After all, who would **choose** corner time over going to bed? Those types of mercies did not come often, and damned if the blonde refused it.

Usually, Hannah slept in the bedroom that she shared with Dean, but not tonight. Tonight, she was going to sleep in the guest room. If she slept in their room, Dean would see her crying. If he wasn’t already awake, the sound of it would wake him up. If he saw her crying, he would ask what was wrong. If he asked what was wrong, she would have to either tell him or lie. If she told him, Dean would get into the biggest screaming match with John at three in the morning that a boy had ever had with his father. During that, he would find out why Hannah was punished and ask her why she snuck out. If he did that, she would have to lie for sure that time and it would just keep the cycle going. Hannah didn’t need that kind of stress with as late at night as it was. So, she was going to sleep in the guest room even if it killed her.

The green-eyed girl made her way up the stairs, down the hallway and hung a left, entering the first door on the right. Her hand trembled as she turned the silver doorknob, and her legs felt weak beneath her as she found her way to a corner.

She needed to calm down before doing anything else, so she sat on the floor and breathed slow and deep breaths, holding herself tightly. Hannah tried to think about good things instead of the bad memories that she held in an attempt to calm herself down and keep herself from an anxiety attack and/or flashback.

Hannah chose to think about the time that John and Mary took her and Dean to see Mötley Crüe when they were eight, in 1987, when the band was on their _Girls, Girls, Girls_ tour. Her parents had secured a babysitter for the then four year old Sam and they drove all night to the venue. Mötley Crüe was more or less the family band; Hannah and Dean liked them, John and Mary liked them, even Sam liked them. When they reached their destination, they found their seats and waited for the show to start. As easy as one, two, three. John and Mary had been smart enough to pick a concert date that offered fixed seating instead of the standard general admission. Even if they were going to be standing the whole time and not actually using the chairs that they had purchased for the night, it was the way to go. Waiting outside all night with a pair of eight year olds to get good spots at a general admission venue was not the best plan.

Dean and Hannah were both wearing oversized tour tee shirts, Hannah wearing _Theatre of Pain_ and Dean wearing _Shout at the Devil_. While Mötley played, John had Hannah on his shoulders and Mary had Dean on hers. Otherwise, they would have been too low to the ground to see a thing. John had had the foresight to put earplugs in both of the twins’ ears before the concert started so that they wouldn’t go deaf, but even with the hearing protection, it was very loud. It was the loudest Hannah and Dean had ever heard music, and that was saying a lot, seeing as their parents **loved** to have their music at the maximum volume possible.

Hannah liked Tommy Lee, the drummer, the best. His techniques with his instrument were really “cool”, as she had put it, and he was loud and rather daring as well. Also, he played piano for one of their songs, “Home Sweet Home”. Hannah really loved the piano parts, and that song was her favorite.

Dean liked Mick Mars, the lead guitarist, the most. He made his one guitar sound like there were three guys playing, not just him. Mick’s guitar solos were face melting, and he played better than anyone that Dean had ever seen play before.

The concert went on until at least one in the morning. At a point, John asked his twins over all of the noise if they wanted to go home, and although they were tired, they both insisted on staying until the very end. After all, they were having way too much fun, and it was too wonderful to leave early from. “ _No, daddy. Dee and I wanna finish. Now look!_ ”

As the teenager reminisced, it had the desired effect and calmed her down. It was comforting to remember a good memory that she had, one that she held close. She always had her memories, even when times got rough.

Before she knew it, a small smile found its way to her face, and she slowly took a long, deep breath of air. “ _You’re okay, you’re okay Han,_ ” she thought to herself. “ _For now._ ”

Hannah didn’t want to wake up when the sun rose. She didn’t want to wake up at six in the morning, twelve in the afternoon, or five at night. She didn’t want to go see her boyfriend, Joshua. She didn’t want to make her way all the way over there just to get hurt for his own amusement. She didn’t want to sneak out and she didn’t want to come home only to get spanked. But she also did not want to be killed. That threat always hung over her head, and it did a good job at keeping her coming back every single time. “ _I’ll kill you, and Dean, your mom, too. Sam, and even your ex-marine fuck-up of a father. I will kill you and your entire family if you don’t obey me._ ” Hannah had to keep leaving at night to protect her family, even if it meant enduring an unfathomable amount of pain herself. Beatings, unwilling rough sex, being burned, being whipped… the list was bottomless. The things that Joshua could come up with to punish her… they were indescribable. Even still, Hannah Lauryn Winchester would do whatever she could to keep her family safe and living. Even **if** John was trained professionally to kill people, “Hannie” still worried about him. She loved her dad. How could she **not** worry about someone she loved? So, she never took the risk.

Once Hannah was calm, she slowly rose from the floor, grateful no longer to be rubbing up against something that just amplified her pain. Then, the girl shed her dirty clothes and opened the door to the bathroom that connected to the bedroom. She had showered the previous day, before going over to Joshua’s, but she felt the need to shower again. She always felt dirty after going over to his house, what with the beatings and rape. She was always left feeling violated, filthy, and had to wash it all away once she was done being used.

After taking an hour to shower and thoroughly scrub every inch of her body, Hannah dried herself off and went back into the bedroom.

She climbed into the bed unclothed, as all of her clean clothes were in her and Dean’s room and she couldn’t go in there at the moment. Not only that, but she couldn’t borrow a shirt of John’s, like she usually would wear to bed, because he was angry with her. So, she was left naked for the night.

With trembling hands, Hannah shakily grabbed the blanket that was laid out on the bed and pulled it over her body, turning on her right side and positioning her right arm under the pillow before slowly closing her eyes, tears still continuing to stream down her face. She hadn’t cried this much, or this long, in a long time. Her boyfriend beat her, her daddy hated her, and her brother couldn’t comfort her. She felt so, so very alone, and that night was only the start.

It did not take Hannah very long to fall asleep, despite the pain that was brought by her laying down at all, never mind on her right side, where there was a good amount of bruising. She had had a very long, very hard day, and was ready to sleep for as long as her body would allow her to.

* * *

The next morning, Hannah didn’t make it downstairs for breakfast, nor did she for lunch. She even almost missed dinner, as she slept until six in the evening. When she woke up, she immediately began to cry. The very fact that she woke up meant that she wasn’t dead yet, which didn’t please Hannah in the least. She wasn’t ready to get out of bed, and she wasn’t ready for that night. Death would be the only way to escape it without revealing her secret.

“Mom? Is Hannah okay? She doesn’t… she usually doesn’t sleep this late. She never does,” Dean questioned. The boy was worried about his sister, not only because she hadn’t woken up, but because she hadn’t slept in their room with him the previous night.

Hannah only slept through the days when she was sick, and Mrs. Mary Winchester was well aware of that fact. The stay-at-home mother had been periodically checking up on her girl throughout the day, and so far, she had not shown any signs of a fever. However, Mary thought that to be quite odd, as her daughter lacked a shirt from what could be seen of her shoulders, and she only slept in that way when she was running a high temperature. Because there were no clothes in sight, Mary left an outfit for Hannah to wear when she woke up. It consisted of a tee shirt of John’s, which she always liked to wear when she was sick as well as to bed on a regular basis, Hannah’s favorite pajama bottoms, and a pair of socks.

“I’m sure your sister will be just fine, Dean,” John stated after swallowing a spoonful of peas. Knowing what had happened the previous night, how she had been up so late along with the incident that occurred upon her return, the man of the house was not surprised that nobody had seen his daughter all day.

“I’m going to go check on her again,” Mary spoke, about to get out of her seat at the dinner table. However, before she could, Hannah entered the kitchen quietly. There was no sign of her being upset and no trace of any tears, either. She had made sure of that before coming down.

Hannah was dressed in the outfit that her mother had laid out on the dresser in the guest room for her, and her arms were wrapped around her small frame, her hands fisted in the shirt that somehow still held her father’s scent. It was the closest thing she’d get to a feeling of positive familiarity and comfort for a while.

“Han?” Dean asked when he noticed his slightly younger sibling. There was concern seeping through into the tone of his voice, and he tried to catch her glance and give her a look in order to silently ask her what had happened, but her deep green eyes never met his own.

“Morning guys,” the girl greeted gently, still standing in the doorway, now leaning her head against the frame.

Mary paused for a minute before informing her child of the information that the rest of her family already knew. “It’s six at night, love. This is dinner, not breakfast.”

Hannah just nodded silently in response to the new information that she had been provided with. It didn’t come as a shock to her, as she had been up late, so it was no wonder that she had slept late.

“Why don’t you come sit and eat with us, Hannah?” John inquired.

Hannah suddenly seemed very interested in her feet when John spoke to her. She wouldn’t take her eyes off of them.

“No thank you, sir,” she declined in her best polite voice, which was pretty great considering how nervous she was.

“ _What? Hannah almost **never** calls dad “sir”. What is up with her today?_ ” Dean thought to himself.

“Come here, darling,” Mary instructed gently, waving her hand inwardly to signal Hannah to come over to her.

Hannah tried not to display her reluctance as she made her way over to her mother. Mary was sitting rather close to John, and Hannah didn’t particularly want to be near her dad until she absolutely had to be.

When she had reached her destination, Hannah stopped in front of her mother. Mary pulled Hannah into her lap and felt her forehead, then her neck. Hannah almost hissed at the contact that sitting on her mother’s legs brought her ass, which was still sore from that morning, and also from the feeling of her hand on her sensitive neck, which was covered in non-visible bruises, but she held the noise back so as not to blow her cover.

“How are you feeling, baby? You feeling alright?” she asked, smoothing the blonde hair attached to Hannah’s head back and out of her face.

“Yeah, Mommy. I’m fine,” the teenager answered, lying through her teeth. She wasn’t alright, but she was fine in the way that her mom thought that she wasn’t. Mary thought that she might be sick, or that she was for sure, but she was just **hurt**. She was hurt in every sense of the word.

“You don’t have a fever, but the air conditioning was on full blast in the guest room and you weren’t wearing a shirt. You slept all day, too. Are you in pain? Throwing up? Stomach aching?” the older continued, disregarding her daughter’s assurance that she was okay in favor of making sure of it through her own questioning.

In pain? Check. Throwing up? Check. Stomach aching? Check. It wasn’t for the reason that those things should be happening, however. While Miss Winchester should be, in a perfect world, sick from the flu or pneumonia, her symptoms stemmed from elsewhere. She was still coughing up blood and vomiting from her most recent encounter with Joshua, she was in pain from the beatings and her spanking, and her stomach ached from it being pounded in continuously after she made her boyfriend’s meal incorrectly three nights before.

“No, mommy. I feel okay. I just had a late night is all,” she said once again, supplying a detail to make her half truth more believable. She did have a late night indeed, but she was certainly not feeling anything less than sick to her stomach.

Mary nodded, holding her daughter closer and accepting her answer.

“Okay, love. Do you want some food?”

Hannah shook her head in response. She was too nervous to eat. She had only five hours, probably less, until she was given even more pain than she already had. After that, she had to go see a guy who didn’t even love her just so that he could end up hurting her even **more**.

Hannah Winchester, although given ample warning, was not ready for what was due to happen next. At all.

* * *

Nine forty-five. Hannah was in the bathroom covering all of her bruises and marks with makeup. **Especially** the ones on her legs. She had covered them up the previous day before coming home, but she’d have to do it early tonight. It would be a dead giveaway that somebody was hurting her if John took notice of the black, blue, and purple splotches that covered her body.

Ten o’clock. Hannah said goodnight to Mary and was assured that if she needed anything, that Hannah could wake her up.

Ten thirty. Hannah packed a bag for the hours that she would be spending at Joshua’s house and hid it out of sight where John would be unable to see it while he was in the room. Knots arrived in her stomach.

Ten forty. Hannah informed Dean that she’d be “hanging out with daddy” and that she didn’t know when they’d be finished, not to wait up for her. She said this, of course, as if she was actually going to spend the night in their room, anyway.

Ten fifty. Hannah was back in the guest room, laying down in the bed and under the covers, trying to keep herself as relaxed as possible. _In and out, in and out. Breathe. Just breathe._

Ten fifty-five. Hannah was trying to hold back tears. Her breathing exercises helped her slightly, but not much. As the clock crept closer to the next hour, she started to panic.

Eleven o'clock on the dot. John entered the guest room that Hannah was stationed in. He had told her that even though she was still going to be receiving punishment every night until she confessed to her whereabouts, it would happen in the guest room, behind a closed and locked door. The man wanted to keep his daughter’s mystery adventures between the two of them until he had reason to tell her mother what was going on, if he ever did, and his sons or his wife walking in while she was over his knee would not mean good for that effort.

Hannah almost cried, but didn’t. Just because the girl was willing to do certain things for her family didn’t mean that she wouldn’t try to resist the unnecessary. However, resisting John was **not** in her best interest, **especially** showing disobedience right from the get go. So, the teenager immediately stood at the first sight of her father. Hopefully, it would be over quickly.

John closed the door behind him, sliding the lock into the small ring bolted to the inside of the door frame that would hold it before coming over to the bed and sitting down. Of course, Hannah next heard the words that never failed to turn her stomach when paired with the sight of John patting his lap without that warm smile on his face that said that he just wanted to cuddle: “Come here.”

* * *

The following week went exactly the same as it had for the past couple of previous days. Hannah would wake up at eleven in the morning or so, which she could do, as it was summertime and she was off of school, in order for her mother and brothers not to worry that she was sick. If she had it her way, she would sleep until it was eleven at night so that she could just get all of the hurt over with before returning to seclusion. However, she couldn't let on that anything was wrong. She would eat a late breakfast, read for an hour or two, then play video games or watch television with her twin and younger sibling. At around one or two, she’d have lunch, read some more, then go outside to play with Sam in the backyard. Then, John would come home and everybody would have dinner. Following that was family time in the den. After everybody else had gone to bed came the dreaded “eleven PM punishment.” Once John was finished with her every night, she’d wait until he was asleep and then she’d sneak out to Joshua’s. The final event was Hannah stumbling in just past three, used like a ragdoll, abused, and feeling extremely unclean before going up to a guest room and crying her eyes out until she fell asleep.

Dean had started to miss his sister sleeping in the bed with him, and he was very worried about her. She wasn’t herself anymore. He could see it. She’d try to put up a front, a facade, but he knew that something was wrong. He’d ask and ask, but she’d never tell. He was beginning to go crazy over it.

However, this very messed up routine came to a screeching halt on the tenth night. At eleven, the time that Hannah had now come to know as “disciplinary o’clock”, John came in as he always did and shut the door behind him. Hannah was reading a different book than she had been during the day, of course laying on her stomach, the lesser of two evils. Her rear end was, by this point, too bruised up to even consider sitting on if she wasn’t in the presence of the family members who would become suspicious if she settled in any other way.

“Hannah,” her father said in greeting, that gruff, commanding voice cutting into the room like a knife slicing skin. Once he had locked the door, he came over and sat down on her temporary bed.

The blonde teenager quietly nodded and shut her book, carefully sliding herself off of the bed and placing her feet on the floor, straightening herself. Hannah’s cheeks were flushed with embarrassment as she took her pajama bottoms down. She hadn’t worn underwear for the past three days, as she had become too sore for it. John had been going a bit easier on her because of the fact that she didn’t have that extra, although undeniably thin, layer of protection any longer, but it was still a cause for blushing.

John could see the pain and anxiety clearly on his daughter’s face before she lowered herself down over his lap. It was understandable, of course. The man knew that she’d have to be sorer than ever by that point.

Once he had locked one of his legs over both of his child’s, preemptively preparing for struggling and squirming, the ex-marine asked the same question that he had asked every night since their appointments had begun: “Are you ready to tell me where you go out to every night?”

“N-No,” Hannah stammered, swallowing thickly as she shut her eyes tightly.

John shook his head and crumpled his face into a displeased expression upon hearing her answer. “ _Dammit! When is this child going to give in already?! There’s no reason to have such thick skin! It’s just a simple fucking question!_ ”

The eldest Winchester had grown increasingly uncomfortable and upset with the situation that he **still** had on his hands. He didn’t **like** doing this, but he had to. As a father, he had to make his point, he had to stand his ground. As a father, he couldn’t be the one to cave in, no matter how much it hurt him.

“Alright then. If that’s the way you want it,” were the words that actually came out of the man’s mouth instead of what he had been thinking. He tried to hide the crack in his voice, but was not as successful as he would have liked. “But let me just tell you that this is the last chance you have to tell me what has been going on before ten seconds from now, I take my belt off. Obviously, my hand isn’t doing the trick.” Plus, maybe that would cause her to confess quicker and they would be able to stop meeting the way they had been as of late. John really hoped that his daughter would cave sooner rather than later because he couldn’t take doing this anymore. He had always hated spanking his children, and the past week and three days had been hell for him just as much as it had been for his daughter, if not more so. By the fourth or fifth night, when Hannah started to cry as soon as the first smack came down, John regretted his decision to say that she had to meet him for punishment every night until she let him know where she ran off to. Although he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, go back on his word after he gave it, he was way past hating himself for telling her what he had. But if he went back on his word, she would start to think that he’d go back on it every time that he gave it, and he couldn’t have that, so he had to stick to it, no matter how much he wanted to rewrite his promise.

While spanking his children was very low on his list of favorite parental duties, the thought of belting them turned his stomach. The one time in his entire fifteen years of being a parent that he had to **really** make his point and utilize his leather accessory was an instance that he would prefer never to have to happen ever again. With Hannah, this time, John was using it solely as a threat, and really hoped that it would scare his second oldest enough so that she finally told him about her late night outings and he didn’t have to stay true to his word.

A panic rushed through Hannah’s body, hitting the hardest in her core, when she was informed that she had less than a quarter of a minute to agree to fess up before instead of handprints covering her ass, she would have stripes. John had never hit her with a belt before, or anything other than his hand for that matter. He had never even threatened it. As a matter of fact, the only time any of the Winchester children had ever been belted was the previous year when John had caught Dean smoking. Smoking was life threatening, and John couldn’t have either of his boys or his girl dying. The lesson really needed to be taught, and there was no way that his hand could do that job. But other than that, no implement that was not a hand had ever been used on any of the children. So, naturally, Hannah freaked out.

Unfortunately, as the teenager was processing the information she had been given and trying to clear the frog in her throat, she was not exactly coming up with a response to John’s threat. So, her father took her unresponsiveness as her telling him that she wasn’t going to disclose her nightly whereabouts just yet.

When the teen felt John remove his hand from the small of her back and draw it to his belt, beginning to unbuckle it, however, she immediately spoke up. That was decided the moment she heard the leather pass through its buckle. She had had enough. Ten days and ten nights of suffering at home, as well as at the hands of her boyfriend, was more than she could handle. She was given no time to recover before the next night rolled around, she hated feeling afraid of John, and she had had **enough** of it.

“W-Wait!” she squeaked, hoping to make John catch himself before he got the belt through the loops of his jeans and struck her. “O-Okay! Okay! I-I’ll tell you where I’ve been! P-Please, just don’t spank me!” she pled, her voice shaking. She sounded absolutely terrified, unlike the previous days. In the past, she had been strong, or as strong as she could be, but Hannah couldn’t take it anymore, and the sound of her fright just broke John’s heart. “I-I’ll tell you! J-Just let me up!”

John immediately unlocked their legs and pulled Hannah up and into a sitting position on his lap when she made the request. He had to hold back a wince when she hissed in pain at being settled on his legs.

“I-I’ll tell you,” she whimpered meekly. “Buh-But… But you have to promise to listen until I’m done and not get mad at me. P-Please, daddy, please. P-Promise to just listen.”

John thought for a moment, then sighed a little and nodded. He knew that _just listen_ meant, in plain language, _this is something that I shouldn’t be doing and it’s a long story_. “I promise,” he said finally. Even if his first instinct ended up being right and she had done something wrong while out and about, he wanted and needed to know what she had to say.

Hannah cleared her throat and wrapped her arms around herself. Then, she looked at her lap so she wouldn’t have to watch John’s expressions as she spoke. “I-I’ve been sneaking out to go see my b-buh-boyfriend. I-I don’t want to because I know that you and mommy say to tell you when I-I’m leaving and not to leave after a certain time if I’m nuh-not with one of you, b-but… he makes me, daddy.”

A flood of emotions hit John all at once. He was angry because Hannah had a boyfriend and he didn’t know about it, he was anxious because of the fact that he had no clue what _he makes me_ meant, and he was worried and upset at how scared his little girl sounded. 

“How old is this boyfriend, Hannah? What do you mean by ‘he makes me’?”

Usually, when a child used that phrase, it meant that they were simply trying to blame the other person in the situation for a wrongdoing of their own. However, John got the sense that whatever Hannah was describing was not one of those cases.

“H-He’s… He’s tw-twenty-three, and… I didn’t kn-know. I thought he was younger, but he lied. He h-hurts me and he tells me h-he’ll kill me, and D-Dee, and Sammy, and mommy, and you too if I don’t listen to him and… and I-I don’t want you to die, daddy!”

A multitude of feelings crushed the forty year old like a train running over him at the speed of ten thousand miles an hour. His mind was racing and less than a split second passed by before one question turned to the next. How could somebody do that to an angel like Hannah? Why didn’t she tell him sooner? How long had it been going on? What exactly did this guy do to his sweet little girl? What was this fucker’s name and where did he live so that John could bash his skull in? How could John have punished her for that? What the hell was he thinking?!

When John brought himself out of his own head and back into reality, he noticed that his daughter was sobbing.

“A-Are you mad at me?” she whimpered through tears, shaking and hugging herself as tightly as she could without hurting any sensitive areas.

John’s face fell as fast as his heart when he heard his daughter bawling.

“Oh… Oh my. No, I’m not mad at you, baby girl. I’m not mad at you. Shh, shh. It’s okay. I’m not mad. I’m not mad,” the man assured, wrapping his arms around Hannah and hugging her to his chest. “I’m not mad at you…” John whispered, kissing his daughter’s forehead. “Tell me, honey, what do you mean when you say that he hurts you? What does he do to you?”

Hannah began to speak, but only a couple of words into what she was going to say, her crying escalated to the point where she was too choked up to speak, and instead of finishing, she just hid her face in her father’s chest and sobbed even harder than she had been already.

He held her for a very long while, rubbing her back in slow circles and softly shushing her, telling her that everything was going to be okay and that he wouldn’t let her be hurt anymore.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay, sweetheart. Everything’s okay. Daddy’s here. Daddy’s here. I’ll protect you, okay? It’s okay to tell me what he does. Nothing bad will happen if you do. He can’t get you.”

Hannah spent a large amount of time crying, clinging to her father like it was the only thing that would keep her from immeasurable amounts of harm. She only calmed down enough to speak after John sang to her for a good twenty minutes while kissing and cradling her. A soft, gentle, caring man wasn’t something that John would be immediately pegged as by the looks of him, but that’s what he was when it came to his family, especially his baby girl, his only daughter. Mr. Winchester had a tough exterior, and although sometimes that side of him shone through with his children, he really, truly, honestly cared for and loved them.

Once Hannah was reduced to a sniffling puddle, kneading her face against her father’s shoulder in an attempt to dry her eyes on his shirt, she started talking. The girl wanted to start while she was feeling ready before she changed her mind and didn’t want to say anything anymore.

“H-He… H-He hits me and k-kicks me and y-yells at me all the time. H-He calls me bad names and d-drags me around by my h-huh-hair a-and has sex with me even if I-I don’t want to,” Hannah began, avoiding using the term “rape” to describe what had become a nightly occurrence. It just sounded too dirty of a word, even if it was true and the correct name. “I-I never want to, daddy. H-He just does it, even if… even if I say no. I-I always say no. H-He does a lot of other b-bad things to me too. I-I’m supposed to be over there after t-this, and… and that’s wh-why I sneak out. H-He hurts me if I don’t come over. He... He started off nice, b-but then, one day, he got really mean and h-hit me and then he never went back to nice.”

With every word that Hannah spoke, it felt like a dagger was piercing John’s heart as well as causing his anger to increase and increase and increase until it felt as if he was going to explode as soon as the next syllable of Hannah's explanation was uttered. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t do that to his angel. She had had a rough enough time already and didn’t deserve for him to blow up in her face, even though he wouldn’t be getting angry at her. **Especially** because he wasn’t angry at her. He would rather save all of his fury for the man, if he could even be referred to as such, responsible for causing Hannah so much agony.

“Honey, I’m so so **so** sorry. I’m so sorry that you’ve been treated this way and I’m so sorry that he hurts you. I’m so sorry that I punished you for this. Believe me, if I had had any clue… Hannah, I’m so glad that you told me this, and I’m so sorry that you had to go through all of it,” John apologized in the softest, most loving tone of voice that he could muster as he ever so tenderly wiped the tears that were still streaming down his beautiful girl’s face away with his thumb. “But I swear to you that he will never do any of those horrible things to you ever again. **Ever**. Now that you’ve told me, and I’m so proud of you for doing so, Hannie, I can take care of it. Now that you’ve told me, I can make it all better. I just need you to tell me a few more things and then I can fix it. Can you do that for me, princess?”

Hannah looked up into her father’s eyes and felt even safer than she already did. He had met her green orbs with his trusting, kind hazel ones and a gaze that told her once more that everything was going to be alright.

“Y-Yeah,” she answered simply. “I-I can. W-What do you want to know?”

John moved the long blonde hair from Hannah’s face and began running his fingers through it delicately. He had just gotten her calm and he wanted it to stay that way.

“Well, let’s start with what his name is.”

“J-Joshua. Josh. Josh Anderson.”

“Alright, okay. Good,” John said softly, kissing Hannah’s head. “Now, can you tell me where Joshua lives?”

At that sentence, Hannah paled. She couldn’t tell John **that**. If she told John where her boyfriend lived, she would be in big trouble with him. It would surely result in a beating, if not more. He never did the bare minimum to her in the first place, and if she broke the cardinal rule of their "relationship", she'd see worse than she ever had before. 

“D-Daddy… Daddy, I can’t. I can’t. If I tell you, he’ll hurt me. Or he might hurt you and mommy and Dee and-”

John just shook his head, holding Hannah a bit tighter. “No, angel. He will not hurt you, and he will not hurt me, or your mother, or Dean, or Sammy. None of us will be hurt, especially not you. He just said those things to scare you, honey. He’s just…” John paused for a moment while he figured out how to correctly phrase what he wanted to say. “He’s just hurting you because you’re smaller than him and you can't defend yourself against him. If he was put up against somebody bigger and stronger than he is, trust me, princess, he wouldn’t be so tough. I promise you that if you tell me where he lives, he will not hurt any of us. I just need to know where he is so that I can fix this. I promise that you’ll be safe.”

Hannah thought for a moment as her father waited patiently and a minute or so after she was asked, she answered his question.

“H-He lives about twenty minutes away… H-His house is on Camden Street.”

John thought for a moment after he was given the address. He was already formulating his plan of what he wanted to do to the guy. He had been since the moment Hannah told him what had been going on. But now that he had the address that he needed to be able to realize his agenda, he could put it into action.

“Alright, I know where that is. Hannah, I’m going to ask you to do something that you might be a bit uncomfortable with, but something that I really need you to do for me. I’m going to drive you to this guy’s house and I need you to knock on the door for me and wait until he answers, okay? It’s just so I can be sure it’s him. I’ll be waiting really close by, and he won’t hurt you. I’ll make sure of it. I just… I need you to bait him for me. Then, I’ll need you to wait in the car for me. Can you do that, love?”

Hannah looked skeptical of the idea and wasn’t too sure if she wanted to do it. Yes, she didn’t want to be abused for a second longer. Yes, she wanted the constant nightmare that had become her life with the twenty-three year old to end. She never got a break from it. It haunted her every minute of every day, even in her sleep. Yes, she wanted her daddy to make everything okay. Yes, she wanted John to put the metaphorical antiseptic spray and bandaid on the metaphorical scrape and make the very real pain go away. However, she was nervous that something would go wrong. What if John didn’t react in time and she got pulled into the house? What if Joshua locked the door and John couldn’t get in to save her? What if, what if, what if…

All of these thoughts led to her answer being one of apprehension instead of one of agreement.

“I… I don’t know, daddy. That sounds like a scary plan. What if something goes wrong?” the girl questioned meekly.

“Hannah, do you trust daddy?” John asked simply.

Hannah nodded her head to the affirmative. Of course she trusted him. He had never failed to come through for her.

“Then sweetie, you have to trust me on **this**. I will not let anything bad happen to you, I swear. Everything will be okay. You just have to trust me.”

“O… Okay,” Hannah whispered. “I trust you,” she repeated, mostly to remind herself of the fact.

“Good,” John said, giving the blonde a soft, reassuring smile.

“Are… Are we going to do this tonight? I’m supposed to be there soon and… and I’m worried he’ll come looking for me if I don’t show up,” Hannah told the man in a nearly inaudible voice.

“Yes, honey, we’re going to do it tonight. So what I want you to do is pull your pants up and slip on some shoes, even if they’re just sandals. Then we’ll go.”

Hannah nodded and carefully got up off of the forty year old’s lap, paying extra attention to make sure that her behind didn’t make contact with anything as she moved.

“I’m really sorry,” John apologized once again, helping his daughter to stabilize herself so that she could settle her pants around her hips.

“Don’t be, daddy,” Hannah told him, wincing when the fabric of her pajama bottoms pressed against her skin as she shifted. “You didn’t know what was going on. I know you wouldn’t have done this if you did know.”

“I wouldn’t have, and I swear I won’t do it ever again. I’m so sorry.”

Hannah just nodded and gave John a weak smile, not having anything to verbally respond with. She knew that it wasn’t John’s fault, and John knew that it wasn’t his fault, but Hannah also knew that John would continue to apologize about the whole situation until his vocal chords were so damaged that he simply couldn’t anymore. He just **had** to, and she knew that. Even if he knew that she had forgiven him, it was still just something that the head of the household had to get out of his system.

The girl did fine at adjusting the garment that now covered her lower half, albeit for a small whimper. The real problem came when she had to walk over to go get her shoes. She had left a pair of her sandals in the guest room for awhile now, as that was where she slept as of late. They were placed in the corner of the room by the closet, which was on the opposite side of the room, far away from the bed. Not hard to get to, right? Wrong. A couple of months previously, pre-Joshua, Hannah would have no problem crossing the hardwood to get to her shoes. She’d be over there and they’d be on her feet in thirty seconds or less. Now, she had to use walls or sturdy objects to support herself so that she could walk, often having to sneak stabilizing grasps at things when nobody was looking. However, now that John knew, she could stabilize herself all that she wanted around him, and he would understand. Unfortunately, there was not much furniture in the guest room. It was just a bed along with a dresser. That meant that Hannah had to try to get to the other side of the floor on her own.

What happened next was to be expected by the teenager. She took two steps forward and then her legs gave out on her, as they could be likened to jello at the current point in time, and she fell. Luckily, John was right there behind her to catch her before she had the chance to hit the floor. He had seen how wobbly she had been when she stood and figured that it would carry over into her walking. So, he prepared for it.

“I’ve got you, Han. I’ve got you,” the brown-haired man assured, bringing her back up from her dipped position into a once again standing one, keeping his hold on her and helping her to cross the room.

Once Hannah had successfully gotten her sandals on, John carefully swept her up so that he was holding her bridal style.

“I’m going to carry you to the car, alright? There’s no reason for you to walk any more than you absolutely have to.”

Hannah didn’t try to fight her father on the decision, as even if she **could** walk on her own with ease, or at all without falling over, she honestly didn’t want to at the moment. She had missed John’s hugs, kisses, and gentle touches. She preferred his light, caring, protective hand over his heavy, angry, punishing one every day of the week, and now that she finally had it back, she was in absolutely no rush to let it go.

“Okay, daddy,” she agreed in a mouse-like volume, snuggling deeply into him and breathing in the smell of his cologne. She was so focused on the warm, safe feeling that overtook her that the sting in her face caused by the concealer covered scratches that littered it didn’t even register when she laid it against his shoulder.

As John walked quietly out to the car, trying not to disturb any of his sleeping family members, his mind was divided into two trains of thought: pulverizing Joshua Anderson and making sure that Hannah got better. In the “taking care of Hannah” side of his brain, he was thinking about all of the signs that he had missed. She would excuse herself to the bathroom a lot more often than she used to, and when she came back, her face would always look a bit… fresher. Concealer, maybe? To hide her injuries, of course, he concluded. God, what must be under that makeup… John didn’t even want to **think** of that, but the image of his daughter’s battered features took center stage in his mind once the thought crossed -plagued- it. The next thing on his list after making sure that Joshua couldn’t come after her, or even his entire family, was getting her to bare her face and taking her to a hospital. There was no way that she didn't have any concealer on. He just knew it.

Next sign: Both she and her twin, when she was sleeping in her own room, would look tired in the mornings, without fail. John used to chalk it up to them staying up late every night talking and not getting to sleep until every decent hour on the clock had come and gone. Now, although he wasn’t certain, he was thinking that it was likely that she had been riddled with nightmares, and not only were they affecting her sleep, they were affecting the sleep of her brother as well. That was only a theory, however. He would confirm it later.

Before John knew it, they were at his car and he was getting Hannah situated in the front seat. She didn’t want to let go of him at first, as she was feeling rather clingy that night, and it took awhile for him to persuade her to unfurl her balled up fists that clutched his shirt and allow herself to be placed in the passenger’s seat. Hannah would only oblige when she was promised that her father would hold her all that she wanted later on and that the only reason that he wasn’t doing so at that moment was that he couldn’t drive with her in his lap. No, it wasn’t because he didn’t love or care about her or that he didn’t want to. It was because it was the law that she sit in her own seat.

The car ride was spent in mostly silence. It was late, Hannah was tired, nervous, and in pain, and she didn’t feel like talking very much. That was just fine. John held her hand most of the way, too, at her request. The ride wasn’t fun, but how could it be when everybody knew where they were heading next? At least it wasn’t excruciating. At least Hannah had her father there for her, to support her en route and to protect her when they reached their destination. She wished that she could have had that from the start. Then she wouldn’t have had to go through everything that she had. Maybe she wouldn’t be damaged from months of torture if she had told John the first time that her boyfriend’s fist connected with her face and let him deal with it then.

The only sounds that were emitted during the ride were the sounds of Hannah wincing when the car hit a bump in the road and shifted her or when she, at last, had to tell John which house belonged to her abuser.

Their car ended up being parked two houses down. It wasn’t too close to Joshua’s house that he’d suspect anything if he was looking out of the window, and it wasn’t too far that Hannah couldn’t reach it when she went back to it. That was her idea, of course.

She knew that John’s mind was too clouded to think logically in that way at the moment, and, in this particular part of the situation, her knowledge was greater than his. He may have been trained to kill a man a thousand different ways, but her level of sneakiness surpassed his by that point.  
  
“Now remember, love. I want you to go up to the door, knock, and wait a second. When he answers it, I’ll take it from there. When he answers it, I want you to come back to the car and turn the radio up as loud as you can get it. I don’t want you to look at the house. Your car book is in the compartment in front of the passenger’s seat, like it always is. You can use your light that you clip to it and read that if you’d like, or you can just close your eyes, but just… don’t look at the house, okay?”

Hannah nodded to show John that she understood what he was telling her, and soon, she wrapped her hand around the door handle to open it. However, she was unmoving beyond that. Her knuckles turned white as she continued to sit in her seat, gripping onto the handle harder and harder with each second that passed.

“Go on, angel,” John said gently, trying to coax Hannah to open the door. “It’s okay. Go ahead and open it. I’ll be right behind you in opening mine. Everything will be okay.”

“A-Are you sure I won’t get hurt?” Hannah was somehow more nervous to walk up to her boyfriend’s door at that moment than she had been any of the times that she’d done it alone. She trusted her dad, and she knew that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her, but just something about having a plan… She had never had a **plan** before. Plans left the possibility of something going wrong, and that’s what made her more anxious than she would be normally.

“I’m sure that you will not be hurt. I will be right there,” John told her, once again in his most gentle voice. Usually, he would grow tired of having to repeat himself so many times in such a short period, or so many times at all. He usually liked to have to say things only once. But this time, he would make an exception. This was a special case. Hannah needed constant and repeated reassurance, and he had no problem whatsoever giving it to her.

With that, Hannah pushed on the door so that it opened. Then, she swung her legs so that they were now out of the car and on the sidewalk. Once she was completely out of the vehicle, a 1967 Chevy Impala, she shut the door and stood still, waiting for John to exit as well before she did anything more.

The next thing the female Winchester knew, she was standing on Joshua’s front porch. With the inhalation and exhalation of a very deep breath, she lifted a balled up fist and timidly knocked on the white wooden door.

The teenager was met by a man who was about a foot taller than she, a man who had short brown hair and fiery brown eyes. The man was dressed simply in blue jeans and a black tee shirt. He never wore white when Hannah was due over, in case the inevitable happened and she bled. He didn’t want to run the risk of ruining a pristine white shirt, did he? That man was Joshua Anderson.

“You’re **late** ,” were the first words out of the twenty-three year old’s mouth. “You were **supposed** to be here at eleven-thirty, midnight at the very latest. Are you so much of a stupid bitch that you can’t keep track of the time?” His voice was a low, animalistic growl that sent chills down Hannah’s spine. It wasn’t as if they ever started the night off on the right foot, and if they did, it was very, very rare, but this time, her tardiness was the cause, and there was actually a reason for him to be angry, unlike other nights, where his anger was irrational.

Hannah fumbled for an acceptable excuse to give, of course a lie, and after a split moment, finally landed on, “S-Sorry. I-I-I’m so sorry. Everybody in my house… they just took so long to go to bed and get to sleep, and I had to wait longer than normal until I was able to sneak out. I-I’m sorry, Josh. I would have gotten caught if I hadn’t waited.”

The excuse may have been fake, but the stammers that accompanied the blonde’s words were very real. Just because her savior was very close by and ready to pounce didn’t mean that the eyes burning into her didn’t make her feel any less uneasy. They never failed in that way.

“Well that’s just too damn bad, isn’t it? I guess you’ll just have to pay for your family’s insomnia when you **get your ass inside** like you were supposed to be doing **forty-five minutes ago**!”

“ _Come on, daddy. Come out. Come out now. Don’t wait until I’m inside. He’ll shut the door!_ ” Hannah thought silently, now panicking, her mind racing and her heart thumping a million miles an hour. It felt as if it would beat right out of her chest any minute now.

Just as Joshua took a vice grip on Hannah’s arm and was about to shove her inside the house, she heard a booming voice coming from the shadows, followed by John emerging from them. “HEY! Keep your dirty fucking paws off my daughter!”

“ _Thank you,_ ” Hannah sighed in a mental relief. Immediately, she felt as if a crushing ten ton weight had been lifted off of her shoulders.

As a result of the words, Hannah was ever so graciously gifted with a glare of death.

“I thought I told you to keep this a secret, you fucking idiot! What is wrong with you?! Can’t you follow a simple order?!”

The next thing that Joshua did was bring his free arm back to slap Hannah, and it almost came in contact with her face. Almost.

Hannah scrunched her features, closed her eyes, and turned her head in preparation to be hit, but the smack never came. It had been stopped by John grabbing onto the younger man’s forearm and forcing it back.

“What did I **just** tell you?!” the forty year old growled. It was a low, rumbling, primal sound that was like it had come straight from the depths of Hell and out of his diaphragm. “Do not. touch. my damn kid. Remove your hand from her arm. **Now**.”

After all of the talk about Joshua killing Hannah’s “ex-marine fuck up of a father”, he seemed to be shaking in his boots at John’s tone. It was then that Hannah realized that the threat was never really achievable at all. Her dad was like Superman. Hell, he **was** Superman in her book. An average mortal, although however scary he was to her, could not win a fight against the Man of Steel. Joshua couldn’t kill John because John would kill him first.

With that, Hannah felt a gradual release of the pressure on her arm. Soon, it was completely free. When she was let go, she whimpered and carefully rubbed the spot where her boyfriend’s hand had been. A bruised spot had been grabbed, and it was now in pain once again.

“Hannah, go wait in the car,” John told her in a voice that she knew that he meant to be soft. Hannah understood that he wanted to be gentle with his tone, but couldn’t because he needed to keep his tough exterior until the situation at hand was dealt with.

The girl simply nodded as her response and walked to the car rather slowly and painfully, unable to get there any quicker than she was without falling over. She tried to use lamp-posts for support along the way, but there weren’t very many.

“You see that? You see how fucking slow that **child** is walking? **You** did that to her! You hurt a **child** that way! **My** child!” John raged as he grabbed Joshua by his shirt’s collar and yanked him close to his face. “Do you know how old she is?! Do you really?! That girl is **fifteen years old**! She is in **high school**! How could you do that to a teenager, or to **anybody** for that matter?! I’d like to know how you sleep at night, pal, because you must be damn near magical to be able to stomach how much of a scumbag you are long enough to drift off.”

As he said these things, John’s eyes became more and more evil, progressively darkening until it seemed as if Satan himself possessed the man. He hadn’t been waiting very long for the moment that he could rip the sorry excuse for a human being in front of him to shreds the way that the vile… the vile… **thing** did to his daughter, but he was surely more ready than he was to do anything ever before.

Hannah kept her head down and her eyes on the ground as she made her way back to the Impala, but that didn’t shield her from hearing the confrontation taking place just a few steps away from her. She couldn’t get to the car fast enough because before she knew it, the sound of punches flying filled Hannah’s ears.

John was the bigger, stronger, and more experienced of the pair at the door. He knew exactly how to hold somebody so that they couldn’t move, and he knew every single weak spot that a human being had on their body. He knew exactly where to strike in order to kill a person or seriously injure them. He was **trained** to know those things. This definitely gave Mr. Winchester the upper hand in the matter.

Punch after punch after punch after punch landed on Joshua's face, effectively ensuring that it would bruise, and resulted in him stumbling backward into the house, John following closely after.

Joshua tried to fight back. He tried to throw a punch in return to the ones that John was doling out in flashes so quick that his fists could barely be seen moving. However, the man was just blocked every time he attempted to strike back. John didn’t find it acceptable that Mr. Anderson had the nerve to even shift a muscle.

“How does this feel, huh?! HOW DOES THIS FEEL?!”

Joshua’s face was now bloodied and bruised, his nose was broken, and his lip was as good as busted. John may have been seventeen years older, but that didn’t make him any less capable than any twenty-three year old in town, **especially** when said twenty-three year old had repeatedly violated his one and only daughter. John had, when they tumbled into the house, let go of the younger man’s arm, but was still beating him mercilessly. It was improbable that Josh would get a hit in with how furiously John was pulverizing him, and it was impossible that, if he did get a hit or two in, any of the punches that he managed to throw and land would be **good** ones, effective ones.

He answered that it didn’t feel very good and asked- almost pleaded with- John to stop as blood filled his mouth and spilled over past his lips and down his chin. The younger knew that he was absolutely no match for the man currently beating him. What he didn’t realize, though, was that was exactly how it was supposed to feel.

“That’s right. It doesn’t feel good, does it? Tell me this, did you let Hannah tell you when to stop? Or did you just go until **you** were finished with her? Was Hannah able to let you know that what you were doing was **hurting her** or did you just treat her as if she were a **ragdoll** , use her, and then **throw her aside** like an outdated television guide?!”

John didn’t wait for the pathetic answer that he was sure to get. He didn’t want it. It didn’t matter what the scum of the Earth had to say because his opinion had never and would never matter.

Joshua managed to get a few punches in over the following twenty minutes, but it was only so many that they could be counted on a single hand, and none of them even began to put a dent in John.

The pair of men were all over the first few rooms of the house, knocking into tables and walls as they went along. Joshua trying and failing to get away from John resulted in a smashed vase and a busted television set.

All of the commotion, of course, did not go unnoticed. It woke the neighbors that lived in surrounding houses, which was not to their pleasure.

Hannah had listened to an entire half an album’s worth of songs, or maybe a bit more, on the radio since she had gotten in the car. The machine was on full blast, and she couldn’t hear anything else except for what was coming from it. She was curled up on the seat and had her eyes closed, not trying to sleep, but simply doing what she was told. The girl wasn’t in the mood to read, as she was too nervous to concentrate, so she instead opted to just let the music flow into her ears as she sat still and waited for her father to return to her.

Unfortunately, her attempt to remain calm was disrupted by flashing blue and red lights that flooded into her vision and caused her to open her eyes. She was met by the sight of two police cars parked in the road and one police officer walking up to the Impala. Uh oh.

Before she could even process what was happening, a police officer knocked on her window. While she wouldn’t normally be able to see in the darkness that was almost one o’clock in the morning, the flashing lights helped her to make out the woman’s features. She had large brown eyes, beautiful olive skin, and jet black hair that would most definitely flow if the length of it was not put up in a ponytail. She didn’t look angry in the least, and her eyes were kind, so Hannah felt comfortable rolling down the window, and she turned off the music so that she could hear what the woman had to say.

The police officer was picking up on the fact that Hannah looked both nervous and completely terrified out of her mind, so she decided on speaking softly and being careful with how she came across, more akin to what she would do with a four year old than what she would do with an adult.

“Y-Yes ma’am?” Hannah asked unsteadily, trying to keep herself from shaking as much as she currently was.

“Hi hon, my name’s Marissa, and I’m with the police department. We got a call from one of the houses on this street about a noise complaint. Why is your music so loud this late, sweetheart?”

Hannah swept stray strands of blonde hair from her face, pushing them back behind her ear, and tried her best to look the woman in the eyes without flinching.

“M-My dad… My dad told me to turn it up loudly, so I did.”

“Why did he tell you to do that? Where is he?” Marissa knew that the music was not the only part of the noise complaint, as the caller described there being a lot of crashing and shouting coming from inside a nearby house. She just happened to be the police officer who was chosen to deal with the music part of the situation. Now knowing that the girl inside of the car was young and scared, it was good that she was the one chosen to deal with it, as neither her partner or the other two police officers dispatched could have easily handled it with as much delicacy as was needed, regardless of their own backgrounds with children. They were too gruff looking, and would just scare Hannah too much to be useful.

“I-I don’t know why he told me to, but he’s inside the house that’s a couple houses away from this one. It’s the house with the door open.”

That would be the house where all of the ruckus was coming from. Of **course** that was the house that her father was in. Of course it was.

“Okay, sweetie. Alright. Would you mind telling me your name?”

“H-Hannah Winchester,” she stammered.

“Nice to meet you, Hannah. I’d like it if you could come out of the car and answer some more questions for me. Do you think you can do that?”

Hannah swallowed thickly as increased anxiety flared in her eyes. “A-Am I in trouble?” Why else would a police officer be asking her to follow them somewhere?

“Oh, oh no, sweetheart. You aren’t in trouble. I just want to ask you some questions about the situation we have here.”

Hannah was quiet for a moment before an almost inaudible whimper escaped her lips. She understood that this was a police officer and that police officers were there to be helpful, but this police officer was also a stranger, and strangers unnerved her. There was no way that the teenager wanted to do this alone, especially now. She needed somebody to support her through it.

“I want my dad,” she told Marissa meekly. “I don’t wanna answer them by myself. Can I go get him, and then I can answer?”

The girl tried to look past the woman outside of her car to see if she could spot John anywhere, but her view was blocked. Rats.

Before the cop could answer, however, they both heard John’s voice as he approached the car. Luckily, he was not arrested along with Mr. Joshua Anderson, due to the fact that both of the police officers that went into the house to break up the fight had daughters of their own and completely understood why John did what he did once the situation had been explained to them. Hell, they would have had done the same thing themselves if they were in his position. The only condition was that he’d have to answer some questions, which he was glad to do, but he needed to check on his baby first. She was his top priority, forever and always.

Relief washed over Hannah’s features when the sound of an uttered, “Excuse me. Is that my daughter you’re speaking with?” entered her ears. She could honestly say that she had never been more glad to hear that sentence spoken in her entire life.

It wasn’t as much of a question as it was a way to let the police officer know that John was Hannah’s father, and that was understood. In moments, Hannah was faced with the sight of the ex-marine, which comforted her in so many explainable and unexplainable ways. Thank gracious he was back.

“Are you okay?” John asked Hannah softly, a concerned look on his face.

“As okay as I can be,” Hannah responded. “This is Marissa,” she nodded, gesturing to the woman, “and she wants to ask me questions. Is it okay for me to answer them?”

“Of course it’s okay for you to answer them, honey,” John said, then turning to the dark-haired person to his right. “I’m John Winchester. Nice to meet you. I’m okay with you asking her questions, and I already cleared this with somebody else. I think he was your partner. But I need you to ask her these questions at the hospital. She needs to be checked out, and her health gets top billing over your interrogation. That’s just the way it is. If you’re willing to follow us to the hospital, great. If not, I’m sorry, officer…” John paused while he checked her nameplate for her surname. “Ramos, but if not, it’ll just have to be another day.”

“That’s absolutely fine. I completely understand. Which hospital are the pair of you heading to?”

“Lawrence Memorial,” John answered simply.

“I will see you there.” With that, Marissa gave Hannah a gentle smile before heading back to her squad car.

When John had come around on the other side of the Impala and gotten into the driver's seat after she had slid into the passenger side, Hannah looked over at him and asked gently, easing into the questions with caution, “What happened, daddy? Are you in trouble? Where is… where is he?”

“I took care of it, baby girl. I’m not in trouble, no, but he is. He’s in jail. Two of the other cops took him away, and he can’t get to you anymore, okay, sweetheart?” John said, starting to pull away from the house and taking hold of Hannah’s hand gently. 

“He can’t hurt me anymore?” Hannah asked in a voice so quiet that she could almost be classed as a mouse.

“He can’t hurt you anymore,” John assured. “He won’t. Never ever again. I promise.”

Hannah nodded, curling up as best she could on her seat without causing herself too much pain. Of course, due to her injuries, she could not curl up very well. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, daddy. I… I know I should have, but I was just so scared, and I didn’t want-”

“Hey, hey,” John interrupted, stopping his second oldest’s apology in its tracks. “No. You have nothing to be sorry for, angel. You did nothing wrong. **I’m** sorry, Hannah. I wish you had told me sooner, yes, but I don’t blame you for not doing it. I understand why you were scared, and I’m so sorry that all of those bad things happened to you. I’m so sorry, and I’m so sorry that I hurt you the way that I did. I’m so sorry that I hurt you at all. I would have never done what I did if I had known what was going on. I can promise you that.”

“I know you wouldn’t have, daddy. I know,” the green-eyed girl informed him, closing her tired eyes as John drove toward the hospital.

The soft, smooth ride in the Impala lulled her into the best relaxation she could get at the moment. There was no way that she could fall asleep now, knowing what awaited her at the hospital, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t **wishing** for a light coma so that she could catch up on her shut-eye. “You love me. You wouldn’t want to ever hurt me that way intentionally. I forgive you.”

John looked down at his daughter when they reached a red light, studying her pained, abused, but ever gorgeous features, and sighed. He didn’t even want to think about what she had gone through, things that she should never have had to endure at any age, nevermind at fifteen. He didn’t want to think about how she had been suffering for gracious knows how long, or about how she had felt too afraid to even tell her own parents what was going on. He didn’t want to think about how many therapy sessions she’d have to attend to begin to mend herself, or how many scalding showers she’d be taking in the middle of the night in attempt to wash away the horrible memories, or how many she’d already run. He didn’t want to. But for some reason, that was **all**  that he could bring himself to think about, all that plagued his mind.

“Hannah,” John called out softly, reaching out to stroke her hair gently with his free hand. He knew that she was still awake by the small twitch he received in response to his touch. “Hannah, baby. Listen to me. I won’t hit you like that again, okay? I won’t hit you again, period. You have my word. I’m so sorry.”

John didn’t expect a response in return, and he didn’t get one. That didn’t matter. He knew that his girl was worn out and that she didn’t have the energy to respond to something that she had already done so for. All that mattered, all that he cared about, was that she knew. All that mattered was that she felt safe, that she **was** safe.

Hannah, although nothing showed in her expression or through words, felt a burst of internal relief and happiness with the sentences that John spoke. Finally, things would go back to the way that she had once known, the way that she was accustomed to. Finally, things would go back to the way that she had **missed**. The assurance was more than she could have asked for, and it made her feel a sense of security that she couldn’t have gotten any way else, from any **one** else. These affirmations were like spoken gold to Hannah and her brothers, because if there was one thing that they knew for sure, it was that their father would **never** go back on his word.


End file.
